STAR GAZING

                                                                          LVI

Stars have always intrigued me
So I thought  I'd try
To learn the constellations -
Find my way around the sky.

I bought myself a book
Of detailed charts and maps
So that in my night sky knowledge
There'd be no black holes and gaps.

From the day I bought the book
Dark clouds veiled the skies
So I studied all the maps with care
And was able to memorise ...

All the constellations
In our Northern sky.
And when at last the clouds cleared
A star expert was I.

I drove into the countryside
Away from the city's light
And climbed a grassy little hill
On a clear and frosty nght.

There out in the open
In the heavens above my head
Were millions and billions of twinkling points
A glorious star-spangled spread.

But all my hard-gained knowledge
Was quite useless to me
For nowhere in the heavens
Was I able to see ...

The lines that my book had
The diagrams and information
That helped me to remember
Each separate constellation.

Is that star in Taurus?
Is it part of the Charioteer?
The groups all run together,
It really isn't clear.

My fingers and toes are icy,
|I'm frozen to the bone.
I'm not that keen on stars any more -
I think I'll just go home.

November 1990

GOODBYE

                                                                     LV

I've done so many farewells,
I'm an expert at saying "Goodbye"
I laugh and chatter gaily
To stop myself wanting to cry.

My first farewell was traumatic,
I left family, friends and home -
Exchanging a warm and caring young life
For a cold and indifferent unknown.

So when a Goodbye's in the offing
I pin a firm smile on  my face,
For "I love you and I'll miss you"
This isn't the time or the place.

A light and teasing banter
Helps keep spirits high;
A hug a kiss - I'll see you then,
Goodbye - my dear - goodbye.

A final smile and wave
Then you must walk away,
Like peeling a plaster off slowly,
It's more painful if you stay.

Goodbye means God be with you
And what can I say
Than "God be with you my dear one
Every single day"

I joined a writing group and this was one of the assignments.

IN THE GOOD OLD (POVERTY STRICKEN) DAYS

                                                                             LIV

When I was young and slender
High fashion I couldn't afford
So I bought my clothes from Oxfam
Before they sent them abroad.

My personal couturiers
Were all Charity shops
Who charged a pound or two for skirts
And even less for tops.

My night wear came from jumble sales
Some was almost free -
It's only worn in bed at night
So who is going to see.

My friends and I swapped clothes and hints
In those poverty stricken days.
We vied to see who could cook mince
In the most economical ways.

The years that passed were prosperous
Our nest egg, it grew bigger,
I put on weight and now alas,
I have an ample figure.

Money's no longer a problem, but
By one of life's little quirks,
My spare tyre has proved to be
The spanner in the works!

April 1988

To Velia

HOT FLUSHES vs HRT

                                                                           L111

Since I reached my fifties
Hot flushes have ruled my life,
Dictating what I can - or cannot - wear
Their influence is rife.

Polo necks are forbidden
No matter what the fashion experts say
And though I had several new ones,
I had to give them all away.

For necklines must be 'V'
Or cut low at neck and nape
So that if a hot flush should arrive
It has a route of escape.

If a flush comes on in company
The conversation fades and dies
Friends look on in amazement
As before their very eyes ...

A scarlet tide surges up
Like a flaming Severn bore
Reaching to the roots of my hair
And what is more ...

It lingers for several seconds
And by the time it fades away
|My friends have quite forgotton
What they were going to say!

But every cloud has a silver lining
And as calories equal heat
I think of every hot flush
As two chocolates I can eat.

The day's first flush coincides with
The alarm clock's ring at dawn
So getting out of bed is painless
Even on a chilly winter's morn.

|Now I am on HRT
Hot flushes are a thing of the past
No longer do they rule my life
And I am free at last.

And what about the drawbacks?
All I can say is this
Getting up each morning isn't easy any more
And it's the one thing that I miss!

To Dr. J.S.
March 1993

YOU TOO CAN LOOK A MESS FOR A FORTUNE

                                                                  LII

You too can look a mess for a fortune
Just follow what the fashion experts say,
You can make your hair look like a tatty haystack
All it takes is one week's pay.

Modern fabrics are all faded, creased and crumpled
But, that's the way they meant to look,
Garments smooth and chic are now out-dated,
Just check in any fashion book.

Modern hairstyles need a lot of time and money
And when you leave your stylist's hands,
It's as if you have been dragged through a hedge backwards
With your hair a mass of bleached and tousled strands.

Junk jewellery is all the rage just now,
The cheaper that it looks, the more the cost,
What happened to the elegance of yester year?
Will it ever surface?  Is it lost?

Designer holes and patches are in fashion -
You can look just like a drop out if you try.
All you need is lots and lots of money
And some fashion books to tell you what to buy.

MAY 1987

Parts of this verse might still apply today  (May 2011)  I have included it because it is one of my favourites.

THE PRICE OF PURITY

                                                                           LI

Whenever I see a product
Labelled "natural" and "pure"
I just know that it is
Going to cost me more.

Each ingredient left out
Puts the price in a higher band -
A sort of inverse sliding scale
That's hard to understand.

Last week I saw some ice-cream
That did not contain
Anti-oxidants or preservatives
Its freshness to retain.

It had no added colour
But when I saw the price
I wondered whether pure gold leaf
Had been added to the ice.

Alas, I cannot afford things
That are produced naturally
And have to resort to those made
In a chemical factory.

March 1995

THE M25 MOTORWAY

                                                                         L

The London Orbital Motorway
The dreaded |M25
Brings chaos and traffic jams
That drivers must survive.

But there are always silver linings
And the best by far
Is admiring Surrey's woodlands
From the comfort of your car.

Winter's bare and elegant trees
Look best with a sprinkling of snow
Though it's not as common as it was
Many decades ago.

Spring is a lovely time of year
With promises of sunny days ahead,
An explosion of leaves and blossom
Means winter is finally dead.

At last, at last Summer is here
But then it is too hot
And the M25 turns into
An extensive parking lot.

In Autumn, Surrey is bathed
In a gentle rusty glow
Unlike the strident scarlets
That some countries know.

Kestrels hover overhead
Wild flowers and animals thrive
A journey on the M25
Can be a wonderful drive.

A visit to The Devil's Punchbowl,
Hindhead, Surrey

November 1007

MIND OVER MUSCLES

                                                                    XLIX

Keep-fit clubs are starting up
All around the land
So I thought that it was time
I joined the growing band ...

Of fitness fanatics
Who pump iron every day
Exercise on treadmills
And jog their lives away.

I considered a gym club
But was scared to death
By the gleaming, muscled bodies
Scarcely out of breath.

I decided I would have to
Get fit before I could enrol
And bought some excercise machines
To help me reach my goal.

But no one every told me
How boring it would be -
And the muscles didn't beef up -
A slimmer waist I didn't see.

Then an article that I read
Solved my problems at a stroke:
"Imagining exercise works" it said -
I don't think it was a joke.

After a mental workout
And energetic exercises in my head
I was so exhausted
I spent another hour in bed.

If my muscles increase by 13%
Just waiting in a shop or traffic queue,
The longer I'm delayed the quicker
A slimmer, stronger me will be on view.

Extract from the Daily Telegraph of 22.11.2001

"Thinking about exercise can beef up biceps ...
Simply imagining exercising ...can significantly
increase muscle strength.
Those who thought about exercise showed a 13.5%
increase in strength after a few weeks."

NATURE'S VISITORS

                                                                 XLVIII

My garden is pesticide free
And nature has a free hand,
So she gathers together her outcasts
In a merry marauding band.

Slugs and snails all visit
With unfailing regularity -
They breakfast on my hostas -
Have salad for their tea.

Carrot and onion flies
Are all invited too -
The Almighty must have made them
When he'd nothing else to do.

Greenfly, blackfly, whitefly
Are all on the guest list,
They're regular attenders
No party's ever missed.

Caterpillars eat the cabbages,
But when they're butterflies,
They treat us to aerial ballets
Across our summer skies.

The evening visitors are
Mosquito, midge and mite
Who zoom in for their dinner
In the fading evening light.

Nature is a lavish hostess
But I really do wish
That some of her guests could feature
In the main course dish.


June 1990

20th CENTURY MAN

                                                                       XLVII

How will history judge us?
Will our epitaph be:
The people who were responsible for
Polluting the wide open sea?

Will we be remembered for
Our fast and reliable cars,
Or for poisoning city centres
And spreading motorway scars?

Will future generations say we used
Their share of fossil fuel
And decimated several species
With our weapons - efficient and cruel?

Will they appreciate our development
Of non-reactive gases
That damage the ozone layer
Bringing cancer to suntanned masses?

Will they admire our grain production
Or will they all say
That nitrate poisoned water
Is too high a price to pay?

Will our children thank us
For nuclear energy
Or compain that we have ruined
Their land and sky and sea?

Will they laud us as the conquerors
Of many a crippling disease
Or remember us for destroying
Untold millions of trees?

Will our descendents revere our inventions  -
Our achievements - our space plan  -
Or call us "Homo destructus"
Twentieth century man.

17.10.1991
Written for the World Wildlife Poetry Competition

BY APPOINTMENT TO

                                                                    XLVI


Have you ever wondered where
James Bond found his mechanic?
His cars always spring to life
With never a non-start panic.

His car is well defended
With rockets, bullets, knives
For men like 007 lead
Exciting, dangerous lives.

The car can turn amphibian
With no sign of leaks.
In spite of salty water
You hear no rusty squeaks.

He's confident and laid back
And his faith in his car is complete.
I'm sure his garage never says:
"Can't fit you in this week"

Eventually Bond must slip up
And land in a muddy ditch,
As he concentrates on seduction,
He'll forget and press the wrong switch.


April 1988

GREENS

                                                             XLV 

How many shades of green are there
In the English countryside?
The colour has but one name
Though the range of shades is wide. 

There's the yellowish green of the primrose leaf
In it's neat and furry whorl,
And the pinkish green of poplar leaves
As they start to unfurl.

The lamb's ear, softly velvet
Has a greenish-silvery sheen
And the jagged leaves of the feverfew
Are an acid, limey green.

The holly, which is blackish green,
In Spring has bronze green tips,
And wild rose fruits are a brownish green
As they ripen into hips.

Conifers come in many hues
Of gold and blue-grey-green;
And hostas all display their leaves
In shades of greenish cream.

The new seeds of the honesty
Are a greeny purple shade
And certain types of lichen
Glow in orange jade.

When September's dews chill the air
And Summer is almost dead,
The green of our land is tinged with
A touch of rusty red.

So - how many shades of green are there?
The only aswer can be:
As many tones of blue as you find
In the sky - the rivers - the sea.


Winkworth Arboretum
May 1988

SUNSET SPECTACULAR

                                                                       XLIV

The vermilion globe of the sun -
An oily golden sea
Embraced by arms of concrete
No longer wild and free.

A gentle swell enhances
The fiery death of the sun
With delicate pastel colours 
The evening show has begun.

The heavens are evenly banded -
Light lemon, pale peach, blush pink.
The sky's light blue background
Is tinted with coloured ink.

The colours deepen and darken
The sky turns indigo blue
With a diamond flash in the gathering gloom
Sirius sparks into view.

Tropical sunsets are brief -
All too soon darkness falls.
There's another performance tomorrow
Make sure of your seat in the stalls.




Cuffe Parade, Colaba.
This stage is now occupied by tower blocks.

To RJM and WM

February 1988

VICTORIAN VALUES

                                                                     XLIII

We all know the Victorian values
Of economy, hard work and thrift.
Endeavour and achievement were greatly admred
And shirkers were given short shrift.

Victorians were upright and God fearing
So many savage souls they "saved"
Young men were bravely patriotic -
Young girls chastely behaved.

So what did they do with their rebels?
Their young folk who would not conform?
They buried them in large asylums
And forgot that they'd ever been born.

Beneath the Victorian icing
Of piety and charity-giving
Lurked hypocritical double syandards
And some very immoral living.


To Dora and Horace
 9.7.1988

FEMININE RESTRAINTS

                                                                       XLII

Right through our civilization
Irrespective of time and race
Women have always sought to
Alter their figure and face.

The feet of upper class Chinese girls
Were bound from a tender age.
They could only hobble painfully
Around the marriage stage.

The giraffe women of Africa
With their long metal-ringed necks
Look unnaturally elegant - but
Their vertebrae must be wrecks.

There are other female mutilations
Too painful to mention.
Keeping a girl pure for marriage
Was the official intention.

To get her daughter firmly corsetted
The good Victorian mother made haste;
For who would marry a well bred girl
With more than a 20" waist?

Never mind if her rib-cage was deformed
Or if she tended to faint.
Victorian ladies suffered for beauty -
Moved gracefully because of restraint.

Men like women shackled and suppressed -
So some feminists claim,
But looking at current fashions
I don't think that men are to blame.

As we enter the 21st century
Women are liberated - and free,
But perhaps girls want a reason
For not being able to flee.

Why else would they wear restricting skirts
And such dangerously high heels.
They look extremely uncomfortable -
I wonder how it feels.

But before we get too critical
About what today's young girls wear,
We should recall the sixties -
Mini skirts - stilettos - armoured hair.

A peacock's large unwieldy tail
To show off his strength is essential
Do girls wear such high-heeled shoes
To prove their breeding potential?


July 2000

A MAY VISIT TO BOMBAY

                                                                        XLI

A summer visit to Bombay
Is a hot and steamy event
85 deg. at sunrise
With humidity at 90%

It's said that ladies glow,
Men perspire and horses sweat,
But it's hard to feel ladylike
When you're wringing wet...

And the "glow" is running
Down your back and chest,
The heat saps your energy
And robs you of your zest.

Dewy beads of moisture
Form upon your face,
They link up with their neighbours
And together they race ...

Down your cheek and neck
Like a little rivulet
A tiny tumbling stream
Of swiftly flowing sweat.

Every cloud has a silver lining
So it is with Bombay's heat
As a smoother-out of wrinkles
The climate is hard to beat.

Fruit and flowers are compensations,
And though I feel a sodden wreck,
I can't remember when I last had
Such a smooth and unlined neck!



30,5,92
Written at Sahar Airport - the airconditioning had failed
 and there were no fans.  Making up this verse helped
pass a long uncomfortable night.

YOUTH IS WASTED ON THE YOUNG

                                                                        XL

The young take health for granted
And don't appreciate
Muscles that do not tire
And joints that do not ache.

They do not even know they have
Blood pressure or a heart,
Their bodies do just what they should -
Every single part.

To perfect sight and hearing
They never give a thought -
And know that their digestion
Will act just as it ought.

They don't realise how lucky they are
To just pick up a paper and read
Without the search for glasses
That we mature folk need.

Their hair is bright and glossy,
Their skin unlined and clear,
Although a tiny little spot
Occasionally may appear.

Youngsters are not grateful for
Fitness in limb and lung.
Isn't it a pity youth
Is wasted on the young.

Revised 1995

BANKING IN THE COMPUTER AGE

                                                                  XXXIX

In these days of instant communication
Why on earth does it take so long
To clear a cheque through the system
Where do they go so wrong?

Messages fly round the world in seconds
In minutes you can contact Mars -
Jupiter takes a little longer and
Saturn - perhaps a couple of hours.

Thanks to the Hubble telescope
We can see solar systems form
Study the remains of supernovas
And watch galaxies being born.

We can receive radio signals
From far distant neutron stars
And there has been mention of
Greening and colonizing Mars.

We can put astronauts in orbit
Or send them up to fix a faulty fuse
While monitoring on a video
The health and well-being of crews.

We have a reasonable postal service
Web sites on the internet,
Satellite telecommunications -
Faxes, E-mails - and yet...

IT CAN STILL TAKE SEVEN DAYS TO CLEAR A CHEQUE


Written in 1997 - and has anything changed?

SPRING HAS SPRUNG

                                                                  XXXVIII

Spring has come to the larder
The potatoes are starting to sprout
And every fat little garlic clove
Has a slim green shoot coming out.

Spring has come to the countryside
It's pink and white blossom time
And every breath of spring-fresh air
Is a sip of sparkling white wine.

Spring has come to the garden
The slugs are beginning to stir
And all over my cabbage plants
Holes now start to appear.

Spring has come to housework
As the light grows stronger
Dust and cobwebs show up more
And I can ignore them no longer.


March 1981

M STANDS FOR MOTORWAY MADNESS

                               
                                                        XXXVII

M stands for the maniac
On our motorway
Where drivers have to dice with death
Every single day.

M is for the madness
That invades their mind
As they drive along the M25
Leaving courtesy behind.

M stands for the music
Which must be turned up high
To block out every other sound
Of traffic passing by.

M is for the macho man
Who thinks he has the right
To drive at a hundred miles an hour
|Overtaking all in sight.

M is for the mayhem caused
By driving nose to tail.
Warnings are issued every year
But to no avail.

Maturity and moderation
Also start with M
What a pity that we do not
See some more of them.


September 1988

HELPLESS FEMALES

                                                               XXXVI


Are women really the weaker sex?
Our Regency sisters were smart,
They seemed so frail and fragile -
Their helplessness was an art.

They were shielded from all worries
Anxiety made them faint.
They were as pure as driven snow -
Like a madonna or saint.

No heavy bags could they carry
Just a parasol and muff.
A small reticule and 'kerchief -
They were more than enough.

A couple of centuries later
We have women's lib.
Not for us a home-bound life
Of merely kitchen and crib.

We can have a  career and
Employers must not discriminate
But after a busy day at work
When we get home late ...

There's cooking and cleaning
Shopping and laundry too.
Oh to be a helpless female
With absolutely nothing to do.

August 1988

SUMMER SACRIFICES

                                                                       XXV

All through the summer months
Sacrifices are made
To the ancient weather gods
Asking for their aid.

Our altars we call "barbecues"
They come in many sizes
And from these votive offering sites
A pall of thick smoke rises.

We don't sacrifice live creatures
We're too civilised for that -
We buy expensive cuts of meat
And burn them sooty black.

The smoke gets in our eyes
There are midges in our hair-
But we must do our duty
In the chilly evening air.

If it should be raining
We hold it just the same,
Meths. and an umbrella aid
The sacrificial flame.

After we have eaten
Our blackened piece of meat
We hope the gods will grant us
Fine weather all next week.

Tewkesbury -
To Eunice

1.8.1989

LIFE IN INDIA IS NEVER DULL

                                               XXXIV

When I return from |India
Life in England seems predictable and dull
In India, pandemonium and chaos often reign
With an occasional and temporary lull.

There's always a frisson of uncertainty -
Will we have a power cut today?
Will the lights suddenly dim and flicker
And then comletely fade away?

Then there's the problem of water
That we live with throughout the year.
A waterless house full of people
Is an ever-present fear.

All these little uncertainties
Keep us in India on our toes
The euphoria of plenty of water
No complacent Western housewife knows.

Western worries are more complex
What could happen in the world - and might.
In India our problems are more basic:
Will we have any water and light?

On my regular and frequent visits to Bombay I stayed in our old family home.
Wadia House, Colaba had plenty of character, but cronic water shortage. 

2.2.1995

ALLOTMENT GYM

                                                            XXXIII

I received an invitation
To join a brand new gym -
They promised me firm muscles
And a body toned and trim.

To become a proper member
You need considerable wealth;
But no matter - who can put
A price upon good health.

This was a high-tech gym
With gizmos and gadgets galore
And a personal trainer
To motivate and re-assure.

I tried a standard work-out
But realised very soon
That I had never spent
A more boring afternoon.

All I had to show
For a tedious hour or two
Was the return of an old ache
Plus one that was brand new.

So I took on a 10-rod allotment
And found to my surprise
That it provided every possible
Type of exercise.

Digging is a great workout
Though muscles might feel sore;
For the cardiovascular system
Try shovelling barrows of manure.

It provides fresh air and friendship
And after all your toil
At least you are rewarded
By something from the soil.


January 2007

HANDEL'S CURSE - WHERE'ER YOU WALK

                                                                       XXXII

To everyone who has ever sung the Handel song:

Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade,......
 Where'er you sit, the blushing flowers shall rise,
And all things flourish ...where'er you turn your eyes.

On a recent country walk
I saw a calm, sunny glade,
The warm still air was flower scented
A babbling brook gently played.

But as I stopped and stood there
Enjoying the quiet peaceful scene
Chilly gusting winds sprang up
"Cool gales" is what I mean.

I gathered my things together
And left the breezy dell -
Instantly the wild winds dropped
And still calm silence fell.

Then I saw a grassy bank
And sat down in the sun
But the trees all crowded over me
One by one - by one.

As I trod the cool green paths
The blushing flowers did rise -
Brambles and dog roses bloomed
Before my startled eyes.

Where'er I looked plants flourished
Dandelions - nettles - dock,
Bind weed and sturdy thistles
My stocking-ed legs to mock.

Then I realised what had happened
I'd been cursed by Handel's song.
I'm sure he meant it kindly
But he was very wrong.

Was his love an independent lady
Who liked doing things on her own?
Perhaps the song was to discourage  her
From wandering in the forest all alone.

Summer 2002

THE M25 - RIBBON OF NOISE

                                                                           XXXI      

The notorious London ring road,
The dreaded M.25
Mutilates our landscape -
Destroys our countryside.

It cuts a noisy swathe
Of chaos and pollution
Posing problems which have no
Satisfactory solution.

Where wild birds used to sing
And wild flowers used to grow
Massive lorries thunder past
And filthy exhausts blow.

The noise is always with us -
On opening our front door
The distant muffled raging
Becomes a furious roar.

The festering, spreading wound
Now is ten lanes wide
An ever growing cancer
On Surrey's countryside.

The double-glazing salesmen
Have watched their profits soar
Though nothing really cuts out
That mind-destroying roar.

When the non-stop traffic
Makes me want to scream
I tell myself it's a waterfall -
Or a rocky mountain stream.

In no way does this deception
Lessen the noise,
But instead of driving me insane
It merely annoys.

The M25 started as 6 lanes,  widened to 8
and then to 10.

Oct.1989
Revised 2011

THE JOYS OF SAILING

                                                                               XXX

"Sailing is such fun" they said
"You really ought to try it".
So when we saw a boat for sail
We knew we  had to buy it.

We had to find a trailer too
And fix the car for towing,
We couldn't wait to sail our boat -
Much more fun than rowing.

We crawled along in a traffic jam
Roadworks of course,
When my map reading faltered
I heard mention of divorce.

At last we reached the lake -
Unhitched the boat from the car,
It took an age to rig it,
With sail and sheet and spar.

By the time we'd finished,
the brisk breeze had abated,
After hours of perfect calm
We knew our trip was fated.

We tried again next morning,
By the time we were through
The wind had greatly freshened
And at a steady Force 9 blew.

The happened time and time again
For the man hours that we spent
I'm sure it would be cheaper
A brand new yacht to rent.

At least now I know what
His next birthday gift will be
A 500 h.p. out-board
To end this misery!

To P.
Summer 1994

FRANCE - SHE IS A LOVELY COUNTRY .......

                                                                            XXIX

FRANCE - SHE IS A LOVELY COUNTRY AND
THE LANGUAGE - HE IS HANDSOME TOO.

As '92 draws nearer
I thought that I should
Try to learn to speak some French
So that I would ...

Be able to communicate
With our friends across La Manche,
For we're all Europeans,
Just a different branch.

French is a complicated language
Our "the" could be "le", "la" or "les"
And unless you know the sex of a thing
There is nothing you can say.

French verbs have always been a nightmare,
At school we learnt them all by heart,
But when you really need them
All your knowledge will depart.

Even when the French speak broken English
And split infinitives 'till they shriek,
They always sound romantic and seductive,
It's a pleasure to listen to them speak.

With my stiff and wooden tongue
How galling it must be
For the French to hear their lovely language
Mangled by the likes of me.

To Francine
11.12.1990
(Closer EU ties were obviously due
in the year of 1992)

THE TYRANNY OF THE RASPBERRY PATCH

                                                                             XXVIII

I thought emotional blackmail was for humans
Someone's attention to retain,
But that was before I discovered
The tyranny of the raspberry cane.

I feed and weed and monsters
When the experts say I should
But now that summer is here
And the weather is really good ...

It's difficult to go out
And ignore the plaintive sight
Of redly clustered berries
Free from pests and blight.

There is sorrow and silent reproach
In each red compound eye.
I avert my gaze and steal past
But hear a heartfelt sigh ...

Of raspberry rejection
And it breaks my heart
To spurn their ripe surrender
To cream - or flan - or tart.

But I did spend four hours yesterday
And five the day before
Picking and picking and picking
'Till my hands were red and raw.

My friends all come to help me
But I still can't keep on top
Of this year's ruby harvest
My bumper raspberry crop.

I supose I could cut them down?
No - I couldn't be such a brute
And nothing can brighten a drear winter day
Like a bowl of ripe red summer fruit.


To G.L.
(Thank goodness for freezers)  

July 1992

IDEAL HOMES - KITCHEN

                                                               XXVII B


Whenever I hear a woman say
She cannot live without
A fully fitted kitchen
I always think about ...

A woman that I once saw
In an Indian street
Who cooked while ragged children
Played around her feet.

No micro-wave for her -
Just a pile of smouldering sticks
And instead of a ceramic hob,
A line of standing bricks.

A paving slab of basalt
Was her chopping board
In rusty tins and bottles
Her few groceries were stored.

She's grateful for a shared cold tap
For beyond her wildest dreams
Is a sink with running water
And a kitchen neat and clean.

There's a mouthwatering smell of spices
As hot hoil sizzles and spits,
I'm sure it tastes as good as anything
Served at the Hilton or Ritz.


17.2.1992
Near D.N.Road, Bombay

IDEAL HOMES - BEDROOM

                                                                    XXVII

In the affluent Western home
A bedroom has to be
A place of peace and comfort
And quiet luxury.

The carpet is soft and thick -
There's a duvet covered bed.
The decor should be restful -
The home designer said.

The windows are velvet curtained
To keep out all the light,
But the owners often cannot sleep
And toss and turn all night.

Unlike the poor and homeless
Who live on Bombay's streets ...
They have no beds or duvets
No pillows - no sheets.

Their mattress is the pavement -
Their pillow a slab of stone,
Grinding comfort-free poverty
Is all they've ever known.

They sleep because they're exhausted,
They do not need potions or pills
Unlike their wealthy countrymen,
Insomnia's not one of their ills.

So instead of taking a sedative
Next time you cannot sleep
Try counting Bombay's homeless
Instead of counting sheep.

19.1.1991
Wodehouse Road
To.M.W.

WORDSWORTH HAS RUINED THE LAKE DISTRICT

                                                                             XXVI


Look  at what Wordsworth
Has done to our Lakes countryside.
The wild and rolling fells are now
Swamped by a day tripper tide.

Where Wordsworth shared his solitude
With hosts of daffodils
Drivers now queue nose to tail
Up and down the hills.

Wandering lonely as a cloud
Is impossible if you are near
Derwent Water - Ambleside
And specially Windermere.

Wordsworth's Lake District
With wild flower meads was scented.
The air we breathe in now has been
Combustion engine vented.

As everybody seeks out
The Lakeland Wordsworth knew
Boots destroy his daffodils
And tourists ruin the view.

The cars - noise - litter
Must make the locals lament
That Wordsworth didn't see daffodils
In Sussex - or Cornwall - or Kent.

March 1989
To G.C.

THE ETERNAL OPTIMISTS

                                                                            
                                                                                 XXV

I always have liked growing things,
So now with more time on hand
I thought I'd take an allotment
And join the little band...

Of optimistic masochists
Who, in all weathers can be found
Trying to wrest a harvest
From the reluctant ground.

Either it's too cold and wet
So that the seeds all rot,
Or else your struggling seedings die
Because it is too hot.

But gardeners as a race
Are notoriously hard to please,
Some want it sunny for their strawberries
Some want it wet for their peas.

We have some fair weather gardeners
Who come out with the flowers of spring,
Plant their beans and tomatoes
And vanish when the swallows take wing.

For any allotment gardener
An optimistic nature is a must
To cope with slugs and codling moth,
Mildew -  mould and rust;

Snails - rabbits - caterpillars
And flies - green, black and white,
Birds - moles - foxes
And various types of blight.

You think you will save money
When you have a bumper crop,
Then as your yield increases
Shop prices start to drop.

But when you eat a ripe strawberry,
Warm from the sun's morning kiss,
You realise that in no supermarket
Can you buy flavour like this.


November 1994

I DON'T KNOW IF I'VE TOLD YOU .....

                                                                              XXIV

As the years go by I've developed
A tendency to repeat
Comments, ideas, annecdotes -
But I'm still discreet.

Even though a warning voice
Whispers in my ear
That my captive listener
Does not want to hear.....

The same old story from my past
That I've told her before,
I ignore the little voice
And go through it once more.

Even if she gently murmers:
"Oh yes, you did say ...."
I've started so I'll finish
Before she gets away.

I too have endured repetition,
So I know it can be a bore
Listening to a story
You've heard many times before.

So why do I still do it?
I just wish I knew;
But if I should ever
Repeat myself to you...

Tell me very firmly
You don't want to hear it again -
And when you repeat yourself
I will do the same!



July 1993

I BELONG TO TWO DIFFERENT COUNTRIES

                                                                              XXIII


People who move to another country
Often don't belong in either place.
|I am very fortunate because
For me the opposite is the case.

I left the land where I was born
When I was twenty-one.
The English and their weather seemed cold
Compared to India's warmth and sun.

But - after forty years
I appreciate English life
The many opportunities it offers
Without too much stress and strife.

The English, when you get to know them,
Are a kind and tolerant race ,
And I couldn't live anywhere else -
I love this green and pleasant place.

But, when I return to India -
Specially if I go on my own
I feel as if I've never left -
How fast the years have flown...

So I can call two countries 'home'
And in both I feel I belong -
Walking in a cool green woodland glade
Or through Bombay's bustling throng.

Written September 1994
revised 2004 and 2011

NO.1 CARDBOARD CITY

                                                                                XXII

As I lay on the sofa
Suffering from a heavy dose of  'flu,
Barbed wire seemed to line my throat
And my head ached too.

My cough was deep and chesty
And I felt so sorry for me
Until I thought of just how bad
Life could really be.

My bed is warm and dry
I can lie in it all day,
Unlike the shop-door sleepers
Who have to move away.

And if it should pour with rain
I've a roof over my head
Pavement sleepers must make do with
A plastic sheet above their bed.

I can have a hot bath -
Change my clothes whenever I like,
Keeping clean on the streets is a battle -
No wonder folk give up the fight.

I can get up at any time
To make a comforting hot drink,
The bath and toilet are close at hand
And I cannot help but think ...

Of cardboard city dwellers
With no heating, kettle or loo.
Life must be absolute hell for them
When they are stricken by the 'flu.

Some have no one to turn to
No one cares if they live or die,
So as |I wait for my aches and pains to go
Very very grateful am I.


Waterloo Station
November 1994

ENGLISH IS A LANGUAGE DESIGNED TWO CONFUSE

                                                                                XXI                                             


English is a language
Designed two confuse
And that is the reason why
We like too use
Different spellings four
The same sounding word
Even though that is sew
Obviously absurd.

Wee still hang on too
Our idiosyncrasies
And will never allow
Anyone two ease
The burden of spelling
On hapless foreign folk.
Inn fact we find there problem
Something of a joke.

Without are awkward spelling
They wood learn English even faster,
For ours is an easy language two learn
But an impossible won to master.

To K.M.
Written October 1994

THE EURO PITCHER PLANT

                                                                       XX

The euro monetary system
Is like a pitcher plant,
It can be easy to get in, but
When you want to leave - you can't.

The advantages are clearly shown -
Think of nectar on the flower lip;
Problems only reveal themselves
As down you gently slip.

Like an  insect trapped in a flower,
Once you're in you can't get out,
No matter how you struggle,
Complain - protest - shout.

Some leaders thought the Euro zone
Would give them more authority.
Some countries even voted for
The death of their own currency.

It's fine in the good years,
But when economies crash
The authorities in Brussels decide
Which budgets you must slash.

When financial systems fail and flounder -
As drowning insects fight and flap -
Do countries wish their leaders
Had avoided the honeyed Euro trap?


February 2011